light. Once again Craig went down the rope, onto the remains of the timber ladder, and this time he examined each pole in the structure. Most of them had been axed to shorter lengths, probably to make it easier to carry them down through the tunnels and passages from the surface, but the side frames were in longer pieces. The longest of these was not much thicker than Craig's wrist, but the bark was the peculiar pale colour that gave it the African name of 'the elephant tusk tree'.
Its common English name was lead wood one of the toughest, most re silent woods of the veld.
Moving along it, measuring it with the span of his arms, Craig reckoned this pole was almost sixteen feet long. He secured the end of the rope to the upper end of the pole, shouting up to the platform to explain what he was doing, and then he used his clasp- knife from the kit to cut the bark rope holding the pole into the ladder work There was the terrifying moment when the pole finally broke free and hung on the rope, swinging likea pendulum, and the entire structure, deprived of its kingpins began to break up and slide down the shaft.
Craig hauled himself up the rope and flung himself thankfully onto the platform, and when he had recovered his breath, the pole was still dangling down the shaft on the end of the rope, although the rest of the ladder work had collapsed into the water at the bottom.
'That was the easy part,' Craig warned them grimly.
With Tungata and himself providing the brute strength, and the two girls coiling and guiding the rope, they worked the pole up an inch at a time until the tip of it appeared above the level of the platform. They anchored it, and Craig lay on his belly and used the free end of the rope to lasso the bottom end of the pole. Now they had it secured at both ends and could begin working it up and across.
After an hour of grunting and heaving, and coaxing, they had one end of the pole resting against the wall of the shaft opposite them, and the other end thrust back into the tunnel behind them.
'We have got to lift the far end,' Craig explained while they rested, 'and try and get it into that crack on the far wall if it is a crack.' Twice they nearly lost the pole as it rolled out of their grip and almost fell into the well below, but each time they just held it on the rope and then began the heart-breaking task all over again.
It was after midnight by Craig's Rolex before they at last had the tip of the pole worked up the far wall to the height of the dark mark only just visible in the beam of the lamp.
'Just an inch to the right,' Craig grunted, and they rolled it gently, felt the pole slide in their hands, and then with a small bump the tip of it lodged in the crack in the wall opposite them and both Craig and Tungata sagged onto their knees and hugged each other in weary congratulations.
Sarah fed the fire with fresh wood and in the flare of light they reviewed their work. They now had a bridge across the shaft, rising from the platform on which they stood at a fairly steep angle, the rear end jammed solidly against the wall behind them, and the far end wedged in the narrow crack in the opposite wall.
'Somebody has to cross that.' Sally' Anne voice was small and unsteady.
'And what happens on the other side?' Sarah asked.
'We'll find out when we get there,' Craig promised them.
'Let me go,'Tungata said quietly to Craig.
'Have you ever done Ony rock climbing?' Tungata shook his head. 'Well, thato answers that,' Craig told him with finality. 'Now we'll take two hours' rest try to sleep.' However, none of them could sleep, and Craig roused them before the two hours were up. He explained to Tungata how to set himself up firmly as anchorman, sitting flat with both feet braced, the rope around his waist and up over his back and shoulder.
'Don't give me too much slack, but don't cramp me,' Craig explained. 'If I fall I'll shout 'I'm off!', then jam the rope like this and hold with everything you've got, okay?' He hung one of the lanterns over his shoulder with a strip of canvas as a sling and then, with both the girls sitting on the end of the pole to hold it firmly, Craig straddled it and began working out along it with both feet dangling into the void. The loop of rope hung behind him as Tungata fed it out.
Within a few feet Craig found that the upward angle was too steep, and he had to lie flat along the pole with his ankles hooked over it, and push himself upwards with his legs. He moved quickly out of the firelight, and the black emptiness below him was mesmeric and compelling. He did not look down. The pole flexed under the weight of each of his movements and he heard the far tip of it grating against the rock above him, but at last his fingertips touched the cold limestone of the shaft wall.
He groped anxiously for the crack, and felt a little lift of his spirits as his fingers made out the shape of it. It ran vertically up the shaft, the outside lips about three inches apart, just enough to accommodate the end of the pole, then it narrowed quickly as it went deeper.
'It's a crack all right! he called back. 'And I'm going to have a shot at it.'
'Be careful, Craig.'
'Christ!' he thought. 'What a stupid bloody thing to say.) He reached up to a comfortable stretch of his left arm and thrust his hand, with the fingers folded into a loose fist, as deeply as it would go into the crack. Then he bunched his fist, and as it changed shape it swelled and Ja mined firmly in the crack and he could put his weight on it.
He pulled himself into a sitting position on the pole bridge, drew one knee up to his chest and with his free hand reached down and locked the clip on his artificial ankle. The ankle was now rigid.
He took a full breath, and said softly, 'Okay, here we go He reached up with his free hand, pushed it into the crack and made another 'jam hold' with his right fist. He used the strength of both arms to pull himself up onto his knees, balancing on the pole.
He relaxed the lower hand and it slipped easily out of the crack. He reached up as high as he could and thrust it into the crack and expanded his fist again. He pulled himself upright, and he was standing on the pole facing the wall.
He stepped up with his artificial foot, turning it so the toe went into the crack as deeply as the instep and then when he straightened his leg the toe twisted and bit into both sides of the rock crack. He stepped up, leaving the pole below him.
'Good old tin toes,' he grunted. His good leg and foot could not have home the weight, not without specialized climbing boots to protect and strengthen them.
He reached up and took a jam hold with each hand, and lifted himself by the strength of his arms alone. As soon as the weight came off his leg, he twisted the foot, slipped it out of the crack and pulled up his knee to make another toe-hold eighteer*.inches higher. Suspended alternately on his arms and then on his one leg, he pushed upwards, and the rope slithered up after him.
He was now right out of the firelight and into the darkness. He had only his sense of touch to guide him, and the dark drop seemed to suck at his heels, as he hung out backwards from the sheer wall. He was counting each step upwards, reckoning each at eighteen inches, and he had gone up forty feet when the crack started to widen. He had to reach deeper into it each time to make a jam, and in consequence each of his steps became shorter and placed more strain on his arms and leg.
il, Forced contact with the stone had abraded the skin off k his knuckles, making every successive hold more agonizing, and the unaccustomed exercise was cramping the muscles on the inside of his thigh and groin into knots of fire.
He couldn't go on much longer. He had to rest. He found himself pulling in against the wall, pressing himself to it, touching the cold limestone with his forehead likea worshipper. To lie against die wail is to die, that is the first law of the rock climber. It is the attitude of defeat and despair. Craig knew it, and yet he could do nothing to prevent it.
He found he was sobbing. He took one fist out of the, I crack, and flapped it with loose fingers, forcing blood back into it, and then he held it to his mouth and licked die broken skin. He changed hands, whimpering as fresh blood flowed back into the cramped hand.
'Pupho, why have you stopped?' The rope was no longer paying out. They were anxious.
'Craig, don't give up, darling. Don't give up.' Sally, Anne had sensed his despair. There was that something in her voice that gave him new strength.
Gradually he pushed himself outwards, hanging back from the wall, coming into balance again, his weight on the leg, and he reached up, one hand at a time, left and right, hold hard, pull up the leg, step up and again, and then the whole hellish torturous thing again, and yet again.
Another ten feet, twenty feet he was counting in the darkness.
Reach up with the right hand and and nothing.
Open space.
Frantically he groped for the crack nothing. Then his hand struck rock out to one side, the crack had opened wide into a deep V-shaped niche, wide enough for a man to force his whole body into it.
'Thank you, God, oh thank you, thank you-' Craig dragged himself up into it, wedging his hips and shoulders, and hugging his damaged hands to his chest.
'Craig!'Tungata's shout rang up the shaft.
'I'm all right,' Craig called back. 'I've found a niche. I'm resting. Give me five.' He knew he couldn't wait too long, or his hands would stiffen and become useless. He kept flexing them as he rested.
